Night Terrors
by ShadowRanger10
Summary: Saving the galaxy comes at a cost. And you pay it every night in your sleep, your every decision becoming your latest nightmare. An exploration of the things that keep the Normandy crew up at night. First up: Commander Shepard.


I. He was back on Akuze. He wasn't, he knew that. In his head, he knew that. But his body had other ideas. The adrenaline surge didn't inspire much in the way of fight-or-flight, and he knew better than to expect the usual invigorating rush of pre-combat anticipation. Instead. Instead. Instead. He froze.

Teeth. Tongue. Acid. Sinkhole. Screaming. Biting. Running. Blood. Faces. So many faces. He knew there names once. Didn't he? Some of them were new. They weren't there. They couldn't be. His father was long-dead. He never saw Akuze. He couldn't be there. Or here. His father had not died to an overgrown worm.

His grip on the wheel was white-knuckled. Was that then or now? Foot bearing down on the accelerator. Toward it or away? He couldn't tell. It was quiet. Had the screaming ended? Or was it just the too-loud roar of his own blood and pulse? Did he not survive this time?

Neither. It wasn't really quiet. It was just familiar: gunfire. The Mako. Blasting away at the ridiculous worm. It was screaming, screaming, bleeding, heading back down. One last missile, dead on. It slumped, crashing down mid-wail. The ghosts at the edges of his vision receded.

His eyes shot open. The Normandy. Captain's quarters. Anderson's room, technically his now. He drew the covers around him. He was covered in cold sweat. The fact that his arms could still move surprised him. The fact that he was still alive surprised him. Though, really he should've expected the nightmare. The maw from this morning was nothing like the monster on Akuze, but still. No one died this time, but still. He didn't freeze this time, but still. Still. He lay back down. There would be no more sleep tonight, but that's alright. He just needed to wait a few more hours anyway. It would be dawn in her system soon, and he needed to call his mother. He needed to visit his father's memorial soon.

II. Her finger was on the trigger again. He was unarmed. It didn't matter. Maybe she should have cared. It was a war crime. Another one.

She had signed on at 16. Ended a lot of lives, had a lot of blood on her hands. It only bothered them once. Just once. But it was Batarian blood, and the Reapers were coming. They called her a criminal now, but what were the lives of slaver scum worth when compared to the millions of innocents the Reapers would have caught unaware?

The safety clicked off.

They called her a criminal now, and a model citizen then. Back when she'd made herself a butcher in military dress. She'd chased the Batarians down to the ends of the galaxy and personally made sure there was a bullet hole in every four-eyed head. She'd gotten a commendation then, for slaughtering them like the pigs they were. They called her "ruthless" with a proud smile and a "thank you for your service."

He was crying now, begging. She hadn't seen them cry before. Didn't know they could. Not that it mattered. It hadn't on Mindoir. Not when it was her mother, screaming for her children. Not when it was her father, bruised, bloody, dragged away in chains, tears falling from eyes that had been blackened shut. She hit the blubbering fool with the butt of the pistol. Not when it was her baby brother. Too young to walk, to run. Too young to be useful. Why was she hesitating?

Shoot.

No one would miss him.

Shoot.

It doesn't matter to your career. What's one more dead body?

Shoot.

It wouldn't bother your conscience.

Shoot.

This creature is not your father. It is not your mother. It's not your brother.

Shoot.

It will not make you the monster of Mindoir.

A gunshot rang out and she woke up screaming. She told the guards she was fine. She wondered, in the end, which of them had ended up with the bullet.

III. The weird kid was running through the forest again. He was really getting tired of this dream.

Voices. Nothing new there. Except Mordin had joined them. And Ashley and Kaidan had finally reunited. It's been years since Virmire, they probably have a lot to catch up on.

He went through the motions. Running and running and going nowhere, while the voices of the dead called after him. The same words over and over again, echoing with a finality they'd never had when he'd first heard them spoken.

And then the scene changed. Earth. A dirty, dead end alley that could've been a part of any city anywhere. But it wasn't. He should know: he'd lived in that alley for years. After his parents died "going above and beyond the call of duty," after his relatives kicked him out because "duty" wasn't much help when you're saddled with yet another mouth to feed.

He would've turned right back round and walked away, but it was never that easy. There, right there at the very back of the alley, was that damned kid. Guess he was more of a city boy too. He moved closer, and the kid didn't move. He stood there, staring straight ahead, arms at his sides. He didn't remember the kid being this creepy before.

Wait. Huh. He turned around, drew his gun. Husks. Of course. Fucking great. Any chance he might wake up now? Yeah, didn't think so.

He sighed, taking up position in front of the kid. He was never half as sweet on duty as he was on guns but it seemed to work just as well. Well enough to net him a medal after the Blitz, should be well enough to help him keep one more street kid safe. He could hold the line.

He pulled the trigger. Once. Twice. And again. The husks dropped like flies. Or exploded in a splash of green goop. Either way was fine by him. There were a lot of them though...was that what Earth was like now? ...Damn, no time for this now. Just gotta keep shooting.

He must be getting tired. He could've sworn...oh hell. They have faces now. That one there was his cousin, bratty little kid. And there! That was one of the dumbasses from his old gang. And...no. No. No. No. Even he had his limits. Thane. Wrex. Jack. He saw a flash of brown hair, blue eyes...Miranda.

He dropped the weapon. He didn't sign up for this. The husks swarmed. He didn't mind, he needed an out. Out of this dream, out of that life. He laughed. Miranda would've killed him. 'Are you saying I look like a husk?' He grinned as one of the damn things grabbed him by the neck. It's alright. He was always a good shot, but he was never a good shield. Too many of these damn things had faces. Maybe they'd take his next.


End file.
